Highwayman
by Padme Nijiri
Summary: AU Erik, a highwayman, takes up resident at a tavern and falls in love with the owner's daughter, Christine. Meanwhile, the King's men search for him, until one night a disguised red coat discovers the elusive highwayman. Inspired by Loreena McKinnet's Hi


Note: This was written on July 5, 2005...I just haven't gotten around to posting it till now. Worse yet, it hasn't been edited. So pardon the mistakes and feel free to point them out.

Standard disclaimers apply. Note: the writing style is slightly rough and more cut and dry then most of my stuff.

The Highwayman by Padme Nijiri

Erik glanced up from his café, cautiously watching the red coats search the tavern patron by patron. With each individual they would look at his face and ask that he (and even some of the shes there) place a scrap of clothing over his face. Then they would compare the masked face with a picture–a picture of him.

The tavern-keeper's daughter hushed her beautiful song at their entrance. Her vivid blue eyes discretely glancing towards Erik's table. He tipped his fedora in her direction when his amber gaze met he worried features. He tugged the corner of his lips up on the right side of his face in reassurance. The smirk was gone so quickly that only someone looking for it would have seen it. The fleshlike mask he wore only did so much to discourage people from asking questions. The highwayman had the face of the devil, this man's, albeit abnormal, was not deformed, was it?

With nary a rustle from his table, he stood and quickly disappeared down a hallway. No one would notice a shadow leaving. Crudely written on the wall was the word "Gents" with an arrow pointing towards the hallway.

Down the passage he went. Quickly glancing around, he pulled a beaten candlestick on the wall. A panel slid open and he stepped inside the darkness. Pressing the counter levy, the entrance disappeared behind the sliding barrier.

Moving around in the space, Erik pressed the unmasked side of his to a hole in the wall. One of the red coats was questioning Christine. She stood on the stage, her cheeks tinging a pink hue. Have I met you before, her clear voice rang easily through the din of the inn's noise. Instinctively, Erik tightened his hand into a fist. The red coat, a dashingly handsome one with blonde hair and hazel eyes, took her hand and placed a kiss on her ivory skin.

Their conversation carried over and Erik heard him tell Christine that such a pretty young woman like Mademoiselle Daae should call him by his Christian name–Raoul. The masked man ground his teeth when she giggled politely and declined. Raoul pointed towards Erik's table. Christine shrugged her shoulders like a good actress and quickly stated she had been too involved in her song to notice where the stranger had gone, besides she'd never seen his face.

Erik laughed in his head at the half-truth. _Stranger, indeed. _He thought. _I only share your bed whenever I am not away_. He heard the red coat thank her and call out to the rest of the gaurds that their search was over. On the way out he paused mid-step to dip his black hat towards her and tell her she should alert him if she saw the masked stranger again. There was a highwayman on the loose. He didn't want her to be hurt.

Erik scoffed. It was only five minutes after all of them had left that he felt his hand hurt from where he had been clenching it so hard around the length of catgut he kept always at his side.

Quickly walking down some steps in the hidding place, Erik entered his personal dwelling under the tavern. It was a simple shelter with a bed and a piano where he taught Christine her lessons. In the corner lay his much loved violin that had once belong to Christine's father before he had a stroke and lost the use of his hands. Christine now took care of the tavern's daily running. With a little help from him of course. Erik looked at the opposite side of the room. The entire wall was a door with too many entertwined locks on it to count. But only Erik knew which one would open the door to his hoard without having to open any of the decoys.

Above him, he heard the multitude of patrons' footsteps subside as the hour grew late. At last there was only one set of footsteps moving around above. They were light and could barely be heard. But he did, he'd know his love's steps anywhere.

)–/–

The chair scraped against the crude wooden floor, adding another scratch to the already marred surface. Ignoring the mark, Christine quickly flipped it over and placed it on the shaky table. Erik's funds were slowly helping restore the old tavern back to its former elegance, but there was still much work to be done. She allowed herself a moment to grieve for the dilapidated state of her father's pride before straightening her spine and returning to her work.

A shudder banged open in the night wind scarring Christine causing to drop the chair she was holding. _I thought I had shut and latched that one already . . ._ the thought sent shivers down her spine. Picking up the chair, she quickly placed it on the table, thankful that it was the last one of the night. She latched the shutter close tightly before fetching her mop and bucket.

She briskly set about filling a bucket full of water and soap. The singer sighed wearily as she started her mopping. It was the hardest task by far of closing the tavern. And one of the most pointless in her opinion. It would only get dirty again in the morning. In the back of her mind she heard her father tell her how much patrons valued cleanliness. It was one of the reasons why the tavern was so popular. Had been so popular.

Now it was a rarity to see it brimming full. But there were enough patrons to keep the place open and save Christine from opening her legs to the more influential patrons. _Not that Erik would let that happen_. The thought of her lover brought a smile to her lips. She passed a hand over her sweaty forehead and let it rest a moment on her thickening waistline. No one knew yet, not even him. Her clothes hid her condition well for the most part, but only for a month more, if that much time.

Something rustled behind her by the stairs, making Christine's breath catch in her throat. She was more scared of the patron's upstairs rather than the highwayman below her feat. Turning she called out a greeting.

A gloved hand covered her mouth while an arm wrapped around her middle. A hard body pressed up behind her. She could feel the man's thinness beneath his garments; her body started to relax into the hold. Christine's scream died in her throat as Erik's voice cautioned her against such foolish actions. Did she want the authorities come back and catch him? She shook her head against his shoulder. His grip tightened when she tried to turn. No no, he whispered in her ear. You are my prisoner tonight. His mangled flesh pressed against her cheek as his hand covered her eyes from the sight while his lips sought hers.

She hadn't been lying earlier when she told Raoul she'd never seen the highwayman's face. Not unmasked at least.

)–/–

In the morning, Erik kissed Christine awake and nodded toward her stomach, his hand cautiously resting against the roundness almost as if he feared the slightest touch would kill the life underneath his hand. She nodded at the question in his eyes and pressed his cold hand into her warm flesh exclaiming that she was not glass. Erik slid a ring on her finger and gave her instructions to tell people she was a married woman from that day on. She laughed at him but acquiesced; knowing she would have had to think of something soon otherwise.

He pressed kisses into her palm and pale abdomen, making her tremble with laugher. Until she breathlessly cried for mercy. Hesitantly she fingered his day mask. Slowly he removed it, shutting his eyes against her fear and pity. Her gentle voice coaxed him to open his eyes to his lover's gaze. And gratefully he was met with only love and understanding.

Before she left, Erik grabbed her hand and told her he had one last job to do. He promised it was the last one and told her to expect him anytime between the morrow's morn or the stroke of midnight.

A tear fell, and she asked him not to do it. He had a family to think of. Erik patted her curls and insisted that everything would be alright, nothing had hurt him before, why would this time be different?

She turned away from him to hide her tears. Wait for me by the moonlight, he said. I'll be back then. Watch for me by the moonlight, he repeated. And then he kissed her goodbye.

)–/–

The red coats came back as the sun was setting. One of the bar maids Christine employed pointed her out to them. She was sitting by the stairs, a pile of mending before her. The handsome one from before looked at her with hurt in his eyes. In his hands he held a picture of the highwayman. Christine felt her face pale and her blood run cold as two of his subordinates seized her arms.

Someone had told them! A barmaid, a jealous patron. It didn't matter; they knew.

Roughly they dragged her up the stairs, and Christine thought that if she survived this her arms would bear twin sets of bruises. A soldier threw her on the bed and started to lift her skirts when Raoul came in and harshly reprimanded him. She was not to be touched. Not in her condition. Him! He had been spying on her somehow last night.

They bound her upright to the foot of her bed. And propped a rifle up under her ample bosom. Please, don't do this she cried looking at the young captain.

He looked away and told his guards to make sure she received anything she wanted.

)–/–

Christine's wrists burned. Her hands were coated with blood, but at last she could feel her prize. The trigger of the rifle lay within her reach.

Earlier the guards had roughly tied a red love knot into her hair, it was something she did whenever Erik went away. They'd been watching her for a while one of them had said. Raoul was not only a caption of the guard, but also a nobleman's son she'd learn. He had been posing as a patron there for several months.

The moon reached its zenith, a curtain of clouds hiding its full glory from sight. Christine's head had long since dropped, her chin to her chest in a light, fitful doze. The sound of hooves along the cobblestone path that lead to the tavern roused her. At the same time, the babe in her womb seemed to leap in warning. She laughed inwardly at the irony of the situation. T'would probably be the first and last time she felt it.

The radiant moon beat off the clouds in welcome to the highwayman's return. Making him all the more visible on the road. She could barely discern his gloved hand holding the fedora low over his cloth-masked face. The flesh-like one lied below in their chamber. Christine was sure they would have found it by now.

As he came closer, Christine uttered a prayed under her breath. She whispered I love you to the breeze and prayed it would carry in the wind.

Behind her the door slammed open, a voice called out a warning to the guards–but it was too late.

God forgive me, please.

Her fingers tightened around the blood-slicked trigger.

)–/–

She was waiting for him by the window.

He heard her whispered I love you and his heart quickened in his chest. Something was wrong.

The gun shot went off, his beloved's body slumped forward. He screamed, simultaneously rearing his steed around.

It didn't matter which way he went, he knew he could not escape them.

)–/–

In the morning, he was thrown on his knees in front of the captain. He was bereft of his mask and disheveled black hair hung over his macabre face. All but one of the redcoats sneered at him. The captain with blonde hair and hazel eyes looked at him with tears in his own eyes. Seeming to curse him and blame him for causing Christine's death. She was with child, they seemed to cry together. How could you? They accused each other.

They hanged him in the afternoon.

)–/–

Years later, Raoul came back to the tavern. He stayed awake to see if the rumors of music playing at night were true.

People told tales of a man wearing a hat and a mask playing a worn violin while he watched a woman with curly hair hold a baby to her breast and turn about the room. The story had even reached Raoul all the way at his father's house.

So he stayed awake, and when at last he though he would succumb to sleep, he heard the first strains of a haunting melody.

Snapping his head up, he watched the diaphanous ghost forms of the highwayman and his lover turn about the room. Between them they held a babe.

Together in death at last.

End.

Read and Review please.

I've been thinking about doing this story since I first heard Loreena McKinnet sing The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. I know it's probably been done before but still. . . I guess this is dedicated to Musique et Amor, aka Masque de Nuit. You've probably heard of him. He sent me the song. So go thank him.


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